I Swear That Somewhere In Paradise

THERE’S A PRACTICAL joker with a low idea of funny, sitting at a bi-i-i-i-g control board — like the biggest, fanciest mixing board you ever saw. Infinite channels. And his idea of a good day’s work is to periodically tweak a control on that board and send down some minor annoyance to me, to see how well my state of grace is holding up.

Getting some rest? Taking a nap? Ring his phone. Feeling too good about his work? Make his car overheat. Getting too cocky about the state of his affairs? Give him an anxiety attack he can’t tell from a heart attack.

And he sits back and observes me. Sees with how much grace and equanimity I accept these little outrages.

Today… not so much.

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